


Weekenders

by Whisper132



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes the weekend off. Sherlock attempts to adapt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekenders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reddwarfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/gifts).



Sherlock considered his intelligence on a level such that the word "genius" barely described a tenth of his amazing mental faculty. So, when Sherlock called himself an idiot, it was with a depth of agitation and hopelessness that few if any could truly comprehend.

John was on holiday with Harry, per Sherlock's suggestion, because the volatile texting war the week previous was making John a bother to be around and distracting him from the most important duty of tending to Sherlock's needs and whims.

"Don't worry, dear," said Mrs. Hudson. "It's only for the weekend, and I'm sure he'll bring you back something nice."

"I'm not worried," the detective snapped back. "And he's going to bring an ashtray."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Hudson set a plate of cheese and crackers next to Sherlock then left.

Silence stretched on for minutes before Sherlock threw his hands in the air and stalked over to his skull. "We need a case," he told it. "Something bloody and twisted." He smiled at the thought then frowned at the subsequent idea that, were such a case to arise, he'd have a reason to pull John away from the holiday he'd departed on three hours prior. John was not a survival requirement, merely a life accessory. Sherlock could go without—all he'd need was an extra patch or two to sooth the twitching.

*****

Lestrade awoke with the gut-deep knowledge that it was going to be one of _those_ days, the type where some nutter pissed on his windshield while he was in the coffee shop, the type where Sherlock showed up to the crime scene without the miracle dampening field that was John Watson.

"Knew he'd get tired of the freak sooner or later," Donovan whispered as Sherlock approached.

"Why are you paying for anti-aging cream when it's clogging your pores and you've acquired two new wrinkles in the last month?"

Lestrade took hold of Sherlock's arm and steered him away from Donovan before their double homicide became a triple. Sherlock shook free with a huff. Lestrade was going to ask if Sherlock was up to the task at hand but thought better of it when Sherlock gave him a withering look. Sighing, he pointed toward a group of trees up the hill from the small tent city that was their mobile base of operations. "The bodies're up there. Don't nick anything from the crime scene this time."

Sherlock moved jauntily on. Lestrade went back to try talking Donovan down from her rage and assure her that the wrinkles weren't all that noticeable

*****

John was having a reasonably good vacation. He was only twelve hours in, but the cute B&B he and Harry had agreed on was just the thing to make him forget the maelstrom of activity that had become his life.

"Go ahead and check it," Harry said, pointing to John's vibrating phone. "Maybe it's important."

"It's not. We came here for some talk time. Let's get talking."

The phone buzzed again. Harry took it and checked John's messages. She set the phone back on the table when she was done, her expression giving away nothing. "I read your blog," she said finally.

"It's part of the process." The waitress set a large bowl of lamb stew in front of John. "Thanks."

"He always send you pictures of corpses?"

John shrugged. "Sometimes."

Harry seemed to be rethinking her steak. "I know some really stand up guys who are free."

"It's not like that."

The phone skittered across the table like a seizing beetle and, once more, Harry checked it. Clearing her throat she read, "Come take him away before we kill him. He's useless without you. GL."

"That would be Lestrade. He exaggerates."

The phone went off again, another corpse photo followed by, "Come at once. I need you. SH."

"Just go," Harry said, now totally uninterested in her steak.

"No. This is my vacation." To punctuate, John turned the phone off. "Let's eat, shall we? I hear the cakes here are magnificent."

******

The flat was a wasteland of used nicotine patches and cigarette butts when John returned. There were bits of viscous something oozing down one wall and an open jar of intestines on the table near John's chair which, by some act of Heaven, was the only clean surface to be had.

"I'm bored." Sherlock entered dramatically from upstairs, his housecoat flowing about him, accentuating his lack of other clothing.

"Um…pants, Sherlock." John averted his eyes, focusing on a half dissected cat. "Is that…" No, best not to ask where the cat'd come from. If he didn't know, he could deny in good conscience when the neighbor asked questions.

"Bored." Sherlock punctuated by kicking an already felled chair.

"How was the, um…" John's foot squelched into something. He did not look down to discern what. "How as the case?"

"Dull. The neighbor's girlfriend did it. Well, had it done. Where's my ashtray?"

John gestured about the flat. "It seems to me you've made the flat into one. What happened, Sherlock?"

"Bored." Sherlock sank into John's chair, flaring the housecoat as he sat so that his bare buttocks nestled on the only spot in the place John considered sacred. He'd have to have it cleaned now.

"No ashtray until things are clean," John admonished, putting on his stern face—the one he used with adults who whined about needles.

Sherlock looked about then sprang up from the chair. "I'll tell you about your trip, shall I?" While cleaning up, Sherlock recounted John's trip with amazing accuracy…except the ashtray, which was flamingo pink and not cobalt blue. Sherlock picked John up and swung him about in glee at the surprise.

John again requested Sherlock put on some pants.


End file.
